MOB RULES (James Harris Book 2) Page 9

  “You think you’re the only rat in the shithouse, Vincent?” The captain asked with a smile. “Do you really think our careers rest on your skinny shoulders?”

  The sergeant laughed.

  “Do you really think you’re in a position to call the shots?” The captain continued.

  “You’re just another turd in the punch bowl,” the lieutenant chimed in. “And you try that strong arm bullshit again and I, for one, will be tempted to just flush you.”

  The informant mobster looked from man to man. He stared into their eyes and knew they weren’t bluffing. His air of superiority vanished. He looked defeated.

  “Fuck me,” he sighed as he dropped his chin to stare at the table again.

  “Yeah,” the sergeant answered with another chuckle. “That’s what I said.”

  The three men turned and made for the door.

  “What do I do now?” Vinny asked weakly.

  “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” the lieutenant answered. “We’ll pull you in if things get hot.”

  “You’d better. Or I’m a dead man.”

  “You know your way out,” the sergeant said as he opened the door.

  The cops left the room. Vinny sat at the table in silence for a very long time.

  Mob Rules

  24

  The street was awash in blue and red flashing lights. The big brass had come out of the woodwork as not only was it a cop’s house that got shot up, it was Harris’ house. There were a bevy of captains, lieutenants and even two deputy commissioners. They all milled about, talking, making phone calls and coordinating with one another.

  Harris stood on the porch speaking with two plain clothed detectives. His eyes were ablaze and his chest heaved as his hands clenched and unclenched. It was all he could do to maintain control. Harris was an intimidating man even when he wasn’t angry. Now, the man smoldered and gave off a very dangerous vibe to all present. All he could think of was Christi. If they hurt her, he thought, he would not be responsible for what he did.

  Harris received a text from Sylvia that read simply – Dear God! Call when you have a chance!

  He read the text and put the phone back in his pocket.

  “You got lucky,” one of the cops addressed Harris. “There are over twenty bullet holes in your house.”

  “It wasn’t luck. They didn’t want to kill me.”

  “How so?”

  “These guys know how to use AK’s as well as any Russian soldier,” Harris glared at the man. “They just sprayed the house to keep me down while they grabbed Christi. They didn’t even aim.”

  “Why the hell would they want her?”

  “They thought it was Bonnie.”

  This silenced the two briefly. They looked to one another.

  “Are you sure?” The second cop asked.

  “Of course I’m fucking sure,” Harris snapped. “Why else would they be here?”

  The cop looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with Harris.

  “The motherfuckers,” Harris hissed as he turned on his heel to storm into the house.

  A deputy commissioner followed him. He watched as Harris walked down the hall towards his bedroom. The man waited in the living room and Harris soon returned carrying an AR-15. He attempted to walk past his superior.

  “Stop.”

  Harris stopped. He locked eyes with the man as his teeth ground and his jawline quivered with the rage that he battled.

  “We can’t allow you to do this, Jimmy,” he spoke with sympathetic authority.

  “Then I fucking quit.” Harris shot back.

  “Well then I really can’t allow it.”

  “A joke? Did you just make a fucking joke?” Harris turned his anger on the man.

  The deputy commissioner merely looked at him with compassion. He had lost his son to a violent criminal several years ago. Everybody on the force knew the story. The mugger who’d taken the young man’s life had never been caught. Harris had been one of the men who’d help console him all those years ago. The two had worked their way through more than one bottle of scotch together.

  He placed a hand on Harris’ shoulder.

  “”Jimmy,” he spoke softly. “I understand what you’re feeling.”

  With this Harris drew in a very large breath of air. He exhaled slowly and stared back at his friend. Finally he nodded.

  “You’re right, Paul. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. I get it,” the man spoke solemnly. “But this isn’t the way.”

  Harris dropped his head. He stared at the floor for a moment and then looked back into the man’s face.

  “Once they find out they have the wrong person they will kill her. She doesn’t have much time.”

  “So think,” the deputy commissioner urged. “What’s the next move? What’s the best move?”

  Harris only had to think for a second.

  “I have to go see a man. Somebody with the best chance of getting the information I need.”

  “Okay,” the commissioner said. “Go.”

  Harris walked back into his bedroom and returned a few seconds later. He no longer had the assault rifle.

  “Can you take care of this? Have some guy’s board up the windows or something?”

  “Sure Jimmy. Just keep me in the loop, will you?”

  Harris extended his hand and the man accepted it. The two exchanged a firm handshake.

  “Thanks, Paul.”

  The man nodded.

  Harris walked swiftly out the door and made for his car.

  Mob Rules

  25

  Bonnie’s eyelids fluttered open and as the light entered her pupils, her brain screamed its disapproval. She squeezed her eyes back shut and grimaced against the sharp pain that registered between her temples. Each beat of her heart brought with it a throbbing ache.

  Mixing tequila and wine was something she’d never done before and the act would almost certainly never be repeated. As she lay trying to cope with the physical discomfort, Bonnie tried to make sense of what she’d done. She wasn’t normally a big drinker, maybe just a couple glasses of wine. But lately, during the three months she’d been at her mother’s she noticed that she found herself longing for a drink even during the daytime. Not every day, but sometimes. It was out of character and it frightened her.

  “What am I becoming?” She spoke softly.

  Bonnie heard somebody moving in the kitchen and even that faint sound caused discomfort. She lay in silence, enduring the pounding between her ears and reflected back to the previous night.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered as she recalled her behavior. Unable to deal with the thought, she forced herself to think of something else. Her splitting headache became her focal point. That and the fact that she just noticed she’d slept in her clothes.

  “Jesus,” she murmured. Her only thought was of the Tylenol in her bathroom so she ordered her legs to swing out of bed and began to walk, unsteadily, in that direction.

  As she moved, Bonnie realized that she was going to be sick.

  Immediately.

  She raced with surprising speed and threw herself to her knees in front of the toilet. Grasping the cold porcelain with both hands, she emptied her stomach. When there was nothing left to give, she dry heaved for what seemed like forever until she had to make a conscious effort to gulp air and get a hold of her convulsing stomach. Tears ran from her face to splash into the toilet and sweat trickled down her forehead.

  Finally the moment passed and Bonnie let go of the toilet and lay down on the hard tiled floor. Curled into a fetal position and feeling as if her sanity was slipping away, she began to cry. How had it all come to this? Where was it going to end? The thought of starting over terrified her. The thought of staying in this relationship scared her even more. She felt trapped, surrounded by her own chaotic life with no exit in sight.

  She heard a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Mom?” Danny’s concerned voice called out to her.
“Are you ok?”

  “I’m-I’m fine, Danny,” she answered trying not to sound as weak as she felt. “About to take a shower.”

  “Okay,” he replied.

  She had no idea how she was going to face the day, much less get out of the bathroom.

  Bonnie stayed on the floor for another ten minutes, struggling to find the motivation to begin the day. The entire idea was too appalling. Twice she felt as if she had to be sick again and raised herself up to the toilets edge. When nothing came of it, she lay back down. This was, she thought, the worst moment of her life.

  Finally, she managed to rise. She took three steps to her left and opened the glass door to turn on the shower. She then found the Tylenol and quickly gulped two of them down with a blast of water from the sink as she waited for the shower to warm. Bonnie stripped slowly out of her clothes and stepped into the glass encasement. The hot water felt surprisingly good and she stood with her head directly under the waterfall of warmth and felt the strength returning to her body.

  She was going to make it.

  Mob Rules

  26

  Night had fallen and the sky was dark and foreboding. No stars were visible as clouds blanketed the gray sky. A snowstorm threatened to begin at any moment.

  Jimmy had his blue lights flashing all the way. Leaving the Bronx, he flew down the 678, crossed the Whitestone Bridge and weaved in and out of traffic as he headed south into the lower boroughs. After exiting on the Jackie Robinson Parkway, he turned right and made his way west into Brooklyn. The trip was just over 20 miles through crowded New York streets. He made it to the pool hall in less than 20 minutes.

  Killing his lights, Harris screeched up to the curb and jumped out of his car. He burst through the front door and headed straight towards the back office. The men inside the hall turned their attention to him as he strode towards the back of the room. Two of the Franco family’s soldiers, positioned by the office door, rose from their seats to block his entrance.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” Harris growled in a dangerous tone that left no doubt to his commitment.

  At that very moment the door opened and Tony Scalaro stood in the entrance. He looked to be in as dark a mood as Harris himself.

  “Let him back,” he ordered gruffly.

  The two men returned to their seats with casual indifference. It didn’t mean anything to them.

  Harris walked past them and into the back office. He closed the door as Tony walked back around his desk and took a seat. Harris followed but remained standing. He leaned forward placing his palms down on the desk.

  “I need information and I need it now,” Harris spoke. He kept his voice low key but direct and authoritative.

  “I heard, Jimmy. Who did they grab?”

  “An innocent woman who happens to be a very close friend. I know it’s the Loco’s but I need to know where to find them.”

  Tony had one arm laid across the wooden desk. His customary cigar was burning in the ashtray. With his right hand, his fingers drummed. He studied Harris’ face and paused.

  “You look like you could use a drink, Captain. What can I get you?”

  “Fuck a drink, Tony. I need to know who runs this set and where can I find them?”

  “Easy Jimmy,” Tony spoke with equal authority. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  “You remember who you’re talking to, Tony,” Harris continued fearlessly. “If something happens to that girl and I find out you had information that could have saved her then the next time we meet will be very unpleasant.”

  Anthony Scalaro had a reputation as a hothead. An extremely volatile and dangerous man, he was not accustomed to being threatened. However, he surprised Harris by leaning back in his chair and placing his hands in front of him on his lap, interlocking his fingers. He offered Harris a half smile.

  “This discourtesy is unwarranted, Captain Harris. You and I are on the same side, so far as this is concerned. We are, among other things, soldiers. And as such, family is sacred. An act of violence upon them is proibito. Forbidden.”

  He stared into Harris’ eyes and paused, choosing his words.

  “What this farabutto has done is unacceptable. Of course I’m going to help you save this girl. If I’m able.”

  Harris remained silent but nodded his head. He seemed to relax, albeit slightly.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” Scalaro commanded.

  An older man walked into the office. He was short in height with a large beer belly. He huffed, out of breath, as if just walking required effort. He approached Scalaro’s desk.

  “What’d you find?” The underboss asked.

  “Nobody knows shit.”

  “Who runs this group?” The underboss asked.

  Harris knew the answer but stood silent, listening intently. He wanted to see if they would give him straight dope.

  “Their leader is a guy named Rabi.”

  Harris turned to the shorter man. “Yeah, I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Apparently the guy has a heavy rep. Real scumbag psychopath. Takes pleasure in hurting people.”

  “Where’s their home base?” Scalaro asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Find out!” Harris barked.

  “Whoa!” The man raised his voice. He glared at Harris and then turned to his boss. “We taking orders from cops now, Tony?!”

  “No,” Tony answered. “You’re taking orders from me. Go do it.”

  The man glared a second time at Harris and then turned and made for the door.

  “And it’s gotta be fast,” Scalaro added. “Real fast. Put the word out.”

  “You got it, Tony,” the man answered. He quickly exited the room.

  Scalaro looked to Harris.

  “Thank you,” Harris said. He nodded with appreciation.

  “My advice to you would be to head back towards The Bronx. I will let you know the second I hear anything.”

  “Okay,” Harris said. He turned and walked towards the office door.

  “And Harris,” Scalaro spoke, stopping the cop in his tracks.

  Harris turned and locked eyes with the underboss.

  “You’re going to owe me.” Scalaro spoke ominously. “Tit for tat, Captain. This ain’t a charity.”

  Harris stared at the man for several more seconds. He then turned and walked through the door.

  Mob Rules

  27

  Sylvia paced anxiously, from one end of her bedroom to the other She held a cell phone in her hand. With the speaker on, she held the phone by her side. It rang six times before a voice answered.

  “Hello, ma’am,” Deputy Commissioner Blake Shannon spoke. His somber tone reflected the gravity of the situation. A kidnapping and armed assault on a police captain’s house had the city buzzing and the District Attorney had demanded to be kept in the loop concerning the response.

  “Tell me you have something. Anything,” Sylvia asked.

  “Nothing yet. Just a white cargo van. Probably stolen.”

  “Jesus Christ. Where’s Harris?”

  “He took off after giving his statement.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Ma’am, he didn’t say. I hadn’t arrived yet but Deputy Commissioner Sinclair was there.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah. He says that Jimmy was losing it. Grabbed an assault rifle and was heading out the door until he intervened.”

  “Did you know if they hurt Christi? Was she alive?” Her panicked voice belied how much she cared for the young reporter. On top of that, she had asked her to speak with Harris. Her fear was wracked with guilt.

  “It was a grab and go. They weren’t trying to kill Jimmy. They just sprayed the house to keep him from responding quickly.”

  “Jesus,” Sylvia repeated.

  “Once they had her in the van, they took off.”

  “Why in the hell would they want her?!”

  “Jimmy seems to think th
at they must have thought they were grabbing Bonnie. It makes sense knowing what we know.”

  “Dear God…” Sylvia couldn’t continue as she grasped the implications immediately.

  “Yeah,” Shannon finished her thought. “Once they find out they have the wrong person they will get rid of her.”

  Sylvia took a few deep breaths and tried to stop her mind from racing. She smoothed a hand through her hair.

  “What’s being done?”

  “We have multiple SWAT units and the three top strike teams on tactical standby. They are posted at staggered intervals throughout The Bronx and the lower boroughs. None will be more than ten minutes from any point of attack we may need.”

  Sylvia remained silent. Her head was swimming.

  “It’s our best move right now, Ma’am,” Shannon concluded. “I’m afraid it’s a waiting game.”

  “Maybe for us it is.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Jimmy’s not going to wait. I know damn well what he’s going to do.”

  “What?” Shannon asked.

  Sylvia paused. She felt the numbing grip of fear and it brought back the horrific memories of a very dark time in her life, a time when her own daughter had been in the clutches of a murderous psychopath. Christi had helped Harris save her daughter moments before the madman had butchered her.

  And then Harris had made sure the psychotic bastard would never hurt another soul.

  While most people suspected Harris had killed the man, only Sylvia knew for sure. It was a secret they shared. It was a secret she would take to her grave. Harris had waded through hell and had done what was necessary to save her daughter Emily. And now, he would do the same for Christi.

  “Ma’am,” Shannon repeated. “What’s he going to do? Where’s he going next?”

  “Just keep me informed every step of the way,” she ordered ignoring the questions.

  Sylvia pressed a button on her phone and ended the call. She stared out her bedroom window as her mind raced. There was nothing she could do. The helpless feeling had returned and although it was not her daughter this time around, she felt just as afraid. Shannon’s last question was still fresh in her mind. Where was he going? She had a pretty good idea where.